


When the Sun Has Set

by accidentalrambler



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Caroline Tyrell, F/M, Klaroline, Minor Character Death, NSFW, Niklaus Stark, Romance, Smut, klaroline au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6315364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentalrambler/pseuds/accidentalrambler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caroline Tyrell wants to be the Queen. Married to Stefan Baratheon, who carries on a much closer relationship with her own brother than her, she's set on a path leading straight to the Iron Throne. Until she meets Niklaus Stark - the young King in the North, seeking revenge for the death of his father and leading the Northern army to free his sister Rebekah from the Red Keep. Fascination brews between the two from the moment their paths align. But nothing ever comes easy in the land of Westeros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> GoT AU, with Caroline as Margaery Tyrell and Klaus as Robb Stark. In the spirit of full disclosure, I haven’t read ASOIAF yet so it’s based (very loosely) on tv show. 
> 
> This will probably be a 3-shot, with smut expected in later parts - as well as character death but it will not be Klaroline.
> 
> I hope you like it :)

* * *

 

_“When the sun has set, no candle can replace it”_

_George R.R. Martin (A Storm of Swords)_

* * *

In the barbarous world of Westeros, you had to learn how to play the game in order to survive.

Caroline didn’t want _just_ to survive, though. She wanted to flourish. She needed to excel.

She craved to rule.

Her ambitions weren’t unfounded. Given the logical mind she was blessed with, her cunning dexterity, certain aptitude for garnering love and respect amongst her own people, Caroline was meant to be a Queen. Unlike her fool of a father, who allowed to be bossed around by her grandmother, she possessed the kind of determination that made things happen and achieved goals.

That’s why Caroline had married Stefan Baratheon. She wanted to be the Queen.

When the news of Damon Baratheon’s death and the alleged illegitimacy of his heirs spread across the Seven Kingdoms, his younger brother Stefan was among the first to stake a claim to Iron Throne. The whole family, the rumours had it, hated each other, between the eldest, Zachary, challenging Damon’s rule and Stefan pining after his wife, Elena.

But that was all there was to it - rumours. The truth was far more twisted and complicated, not to mention interesting, as it often happened with gossip. While there was no doubt the brothers had their differences and a lot of bad blood between them, their familial bond was still strong, unlike the one between them and Zachary. Stefan might have disapproved of Damon’s lifestyle and vice-versa, but in the end, there was no way he would stand idly by and watch Elena, with her bastard children, take over the kingdom that wasn’t hers, very probably having murdered his brother to gain her goal.

As for the brothers’ alleged altercation over the deadly beauty of Elena Lannister, Caroline knew for a fact it was as far from the truth as possible. While during his schoolboy years Stefan might have suffered from a small unreciprocated crush, those days were long over and now he embarked on a liaison with none other than Caroline’s brother, Matthew.

It was of no surprise to anyone in Highgarden, after the news of Damon’s death had reached them, that Stefan soon appeared, with pleas for support and army, to take back what was, in his eyes, rightfully his. And soon, Caroline was married off as a means to secure Tyrells future influences in the Red Keep, once it was taken back by the youngest Baratheon brother.

It probably should’ve bothered her to some extent, the fact her husband was head over heels in love with someone else, let alone her beloved brother. That, however, was not the case. While she liked Stefan well enough, in the bigger picture he was no more than a means to an end. He treated her well and with the respect she deserved - not that she’d allow him to treat her any other way. Still, her husband appeared to possess a natural tendency towards brooding and there were times he would get snippy, moody or even vicious. It was as if there were two Stefans - one that, while still morally challenged, was quite sensitive and attentive, and a second, who, it seemed, could eagerly rip her apart with his vile words if he was in one of his moods. As Caroline began to cope with her situation and make the most of it, she learnt that it was best to appreciate her husband’s better times while they lasted and avoid him once they ended.

It wasn’t as if Stefan craved for her company anyway, enjoying the presence of Matt far more. Though it was generally of no difference to her, Caroline resented him for one simple reason.

She remained untouched since her wedding night.

Although she had no particular desire to be bedded by Stefan, the harsh truth was they did need to conceive an heir in order to secure their position as royal couple. However ridiculous it was, the respect held to her as a Queen would be lost if people were to believe she was unable to carry and give birth to a royal child. Stefan though, wouldn’t even consider touching her, despite her persuasion to do so. No matter how many times Caroline told herself her husband simply had different tastes, she couldn’t help but feel insecure, just a bit, and she hated it. Not to mention, she had been growing increasingly frustrated with his stubbornness and unwillingness to put their joined interests first - it was dangerous to her plans and that wasn’t something Caroline could let slip.

She wanted to be _the_ Queen.

* * *

 

Looking at Niklaus Stark for the very first time, with those dirty blond curls, sun kissed skin and crimson lips, Caroline thought he could be mistaken for the man from the Reach. But then, upon closer observation, one just had to decide that was not the case. There was a glint of iron behind his eyes, loss and blood etched on his face. He was walking with confidence but paying attention to his surroundings, taut muscles and strong physique - no summer soldier looked nor moved like this. It was a body carved out by the harshness of winter, forged in ice and the cruelty of life.

At 21, mere two years older than Caroline, Niklaus Stark had already been named the King in the North. With thousands of soldiers in his command, he had heretofore fought half a dozen battles and none of them were lost.

“You’re staring, my wife,” Stefan’s venomous voice rang in her ear.

He was feeling somewhat bitter, her husband, over the fact he had to join forces with the young Stark to conquer King’s Landing. But an alliance with his older brother, Zachary, was out of question, given he was more of an additional opponent to the Iron Throne, and they needed more men if they were to defeat the Lannisters first.

Young Wolf of Winterfell, on the mission to break his sister, Rebekah, out of Lannisters’ claws and on the path of revenge for his father’s death would make the best ally. Especially since he had no interest in the Throne himself. He just wanted the North and that was a small price to pay for the rest of Westeros.

Caroline understood it perfectly, had even been trying to convince Stefan of the benefits of such a solution and though he mostly agreed, he resented sharing the glory with someone else. She could only hope his attitude wouldn’t sway the young Stark towards Zachary and ruin their plans. _Her_ plans.

“I’ve never seen somebody from deep North, my king. I’m merely curious,” she whispered back, as Niklaus was slowly approaching the podium set in the middle of the camp, the enormous grey direwolf beside him. Stefan seemed to be satisfied with her answer, at least for the time being and the truth was, the young Stark did spike her interest.

His father, Ansel, had been imprisoned and then executed by Elena (Caroline no longer thought of her as a Queen, even if namely she still was one), after having discovered too many of her secrets. Niklaus had rushed at once to his father’s rescue, only for the news of Lord Stark’s death to reach him after his first victory against the Lannisters.

It was said his wrath had known no bounds, riding out on his wolf during battles, the beast ripping out throats and crushing bones, its master showing even less mercy, barbarian, basking in the blood of his enemies.

“Your Grace,” the rough accented voice called out to her and Caroline was embarrassed to realize she had almost daydreamed her way through introductions.

He looked at her, and it felt as if his gaze was burning through her skin, her breathing becoming laboured for no apparent reason as she tried to pull herself together enough to reciprocate the greeting.

“Your Grace,” she said, her smile, as always, impeccable and striking.

“My Lord is quite enough, your Grace. I do not contend for the Iron Throne and Westeros,” Niklaus replied, humbly lowering his gaze, though the subtle stretch of his lips suggested slight amusement of the speaker.

“But you are a king in your own right, chosen by your lords. You deserve the title,” Caroline insisted.

“Nothing was yet deserved, your Grace,” he let out, in quite the harsh tone, and then, catching himself on it, added, “Let’s not bother ourselves with titles. Your husband and I are to be allies, after all.”

The silence prolonged, Stefan, Matt, the lords and the crowd observing their staring match, though it was as if there were only two of them on that field. Caroline could feel her heart trying to beat out of her chest and yet could not find a reason why the man affected her so much. Their moment almost tipped over the point of awkwardness but then, the loud animal growl resonated through the space, the direwolf pacing towards the podium where she was sitting with Stefan.

“Grey Wind, come back!” the Stark yelled as he went after the animal.

She probably should’ve been afraid and yet, strangely, she wasn’t, looking at the beast with curiosity, fascinated by its deep black eyes and mighty body. Matt was rushing towards her in an instant and Stefan hastily shifted back, ready to save his own skin, the move making Caroline smile bitterly for a split second. The wolf slowed down and jumped on the podium, nudging her hand with his nose, licking it a moment later. It tickled and she giggled, trying to reign it in to maintain her royal posture. But then Lord Stark reached the platform, his breathing ragged and gaze bewildered, the wolf choosing this moment to nest its head on her lap, smudging her gown beyond repair and Caroline couldn’t hold it in anymore. She laughed out loud, tilting back her head, petting Grey Wind as she tried to compose herself. The crowd was quiet, as if charmed by the sound, and when she raised her gaze to Niklaus, this time a genuine smile was on his lips, Caroline knew she had just made a new friend.

* * *

 

He liked looking at her.

The cacophony of angry voices filled the tent where the Council was being held, the Lords of the North and Stefan’s advisors disagreeing upon the strategy.

He’d steal a glance at her every once in a while as he tried his best to listen to the fools. Klaus noticed the way she would flinch, as Stefan said something vastly inappropriate or simply foolish. How her eyes would travel carefully from man to man, cold and assessing, not that one could tell unless they were attentive enough. Her touch, in contrast, seemed gentle and caring, as she petted Grey Wind and scratched him behind ears, the vile beast putty in her hands.

Klaus had considered her a fool at first, just one more silly girl sold off to marriage to make an alliance and gain influence. Had even taken pity on her, with how she reminded him of Rebekah in this, sent off to King’s Landing to make a wife for Elena’s bastard son, only to be kept captive as leverage. Klaus had learnt over the course of the last couple of weeks, that was not Caroline’s case, though. She was clever and calculating, set on her goals, determined and still, somehow remained warm, kind, making people love her with ease.

It wasn’t _that_ hard to admit - he was intrigued. People called her the Rose of the South but he could clearly see the steal covering her thorns. What was even more surprising, though - Grey Wind seemed to be enamoured with her. The beast that tore out the throats and feasted on the flesh of his enemies, that snarled at anyone who approached him, let alone attempted to touch him, was now the Queen’s favourite pet. It was startling in its uniqueness.

Then there were the rumours, of course. The whispers of a cold bed and a parade of lovers, a husband more interested in the crown and Queen’s brother. Knowing very well how wild the folk’s imagination could run, he tried to disregard the gossip. Klaus himself, was said to ride out to battle on his wolf, or drink the blood of his enemies afterwards, the tales he didn’t care to deny, as it spread fear among Lannister soldiers. But with Caroline, he could tell there was some truth to it. From the blatant disregard her fool of a husband had shown her more than once, to the way her smile never quite reached her eyes, Klaus recognized something about the Queen, very few knew.

She was lonely, even if loved by many.

He couldn’t resist and glanced at her again, meeting those warm blue eyes. Happy to catch her looking, he held back a grin, entirely satisfied with the way her chest rose as she swiftly took in a breath of air. Lady Tyrell wasn’t unaffected either.

And despite constant reminders of how she was a married woman, too ambitious and cunning, Klaus found that Grey Wind was not the only one growing entirely too fond of the young Queen.

* * *

 

“Now, that is a fine example of a man, you Grace,” Katherine’s cheeky remark, her lady-in-waiting, broke her out of her thoughts as they took a stroll through the camp. Lifting her gaze to the sight before her, Caroline stopped in her tracks, observing Niklaus Stark as he trained sword-fighting, three men against him.

The breeches he was wearing accentuated his strong legs, his chest sweaty, the linen of his loose chemise sticking to the taut muscles underneath. The sight of him like this made something stir within Caroline, the desire for a man she had long forgotten. She was by no means innocent, the liberated atmosphere of the South being favourable to the self-awareness of young girls. As the daughter of House Tyrell and sister to two older brothers, she’d still be pretty well-guarded but nevertheless, there had been stolen kisses, secret meetings, curious glances. She chuckled, thinking back to the boy she had lost her innocence to, the poor lad having been too nervous to truly enjoy himself, only to be later punched and almost called out to a duel by Matt, so overprotective of his beloved sister.

But that was no boy before her. That was a man.

The sound of her laugh drew the attention of young Lord Stark, Caroline meeting his gaze head on, managing to keep the blush in as he caught her admiring him so openly. She saw him sending back his men with a nod and she did the same, turning to Katherine, who looked at her with an amused expression.

“You may go now, Katherine,” she dismissed her, trying to sound casual.

“I bet I may,” the lady drawled in reply, adding as she left, “Do enjoy yourself, Your Grace.”

Caroline glared after her but held back any retort as Niklaus had already approached her, looking all too tempting for her comfort in a leather jacket he had put on.

“Your Grace,” he bowed his head in greeting, his intense gaze focused on her from under his lashes.

“Please, do call me Caroline. We’re alone,” she insisted, resenting being so formal with him.

“Then you must call me Klaus...Caroline,” his tone was teasing, the mirth sparkling in his eyes. In this moment, he looked very much like a boy.

“Must I, really? No one orders the Queen, you know,” grinning back at him, she motioned for them to continue with her stroll.

“Except her King,” it came out harsher than he intended, it seemed, and the air between them thickened with tension.

“No one orders me,” her voice was quiet, yet fierce.

“Yes...so it would seem.”

The camp stretched out before them and the silence stretched between them as they were walking, but it was a friendly one. Caroline would steal a quick glance at him from time to time, occasionally catching him doing the same, a flutter in her belly everytime she did.

“How do you fare, Your...Klaus?” she finally asked, scolding herself internally for such an inappropriate question. He had just lost his father, how could he fare?

Frowning slightly, he took a moment to mull over her question and then softly replied, “Right now, I focus solely on defeating the Lannisters and freeing Rebekah. I cannot let myself think of anything else...I shouldn’t.” He whispered this last part, his eyes flaring up with intensity as he set his gaze on her, almost accusing.

Her pulse sped up, her mind left blank for a second in search of a response. At the same time, she noticed the vast difference between Lord Stark and her own husband. While she was sure the Young Wolf was not the most noble among the men, if his cunning war tactics were anything to go by, he had been fighting for his family. Was still. Stefan, on the other hand, had no qualms using his relationship with Matt to get what he needed from her father and pursuing the Iron Throne. Even if he had done it partially to avenge his brother’s death, it was still for mainly selfish reasons. She was no better, though. But if Caroline had to pose as a bargaining chip between her own father and the youngest Baratheon, she would sure as hell make the most of it.

“You are fighting for something dear to you. I understand,” she finally remarked.

“Do you?” His tone was slightly unbelieving and she probably should have taken offence but then, she had never hidden what she craved for nor did she care to make excuses for it.

“Just because our priorities differ, it does not mean I’m unable to understand yours. Or admire them,” Caroline said, her tone delicately scolding.

Klaus glanced at her, his expression unreadable and his tongue gliding over his lips in an unconscious move, as he pondered over her statement. Her body warmed in response to the sensuality of the gesture, her mind filling with visions of her own lips capturing his in what would probably be the most dazzling kiss.

“An admirable quality to have, my Queen...Caroline,” came his reply as they reached the fork in the road, each path leading to their respective tents. “It seems we’ve come to the crossroads,” Klaus mused as they stood there, clearly meaning more than a mere bifurcation of the paths.

“So it would seem,” Caroline stated, enjoying the way her name sounded sliding off his tongue, like a gentle caress. “I shall see you at the feast, Klaus.” She turned left, trying to walk away slowly despite the burning gaze she felt at her back.

The wind carried his soft whisper, “I shall count the minutes... _my_ Queen.”

* * *

 

He was looking at her. _Again_.

They were all gathered in the main tent, a feast before the battle tomorrow in full bloom. Her skin was burning because of the attention he was giving her, his eyes following her every move. There had been touches, brief, accidental or not, making her shiver, the desires she had kept hidden for so long ready to burst out with the brush of his rough skin against hers.

Now she was the one observing him, as he was dancing with her lady-in-waiting, Katherine. Despite her best efforts, Caroline couldn’t quite deny the pang of jealousy she felt at the sight, even if she didn’t have the right to stake a claim upon a man.

Not that it was something she wanted, mind you.

“You should take advantage tonight, my wife. We’re riding to the battle on the morrow, who knows if your beloved shall return alive,” Stefan leaned to her side and whispered in her ear, acknowledging her for the very first time during the feast.

“I’m sure you’ll be quite fine, my _dear_ husband. I don’t think they make the King ride out with the first wave of soldiers,” Caroline replied, a tinge of sarcasm in her tone not entirely masked.

“Oh, but I’m not referring to myself and you very well know it,” came Stefan’s cheerful reply, as if he reveled in making her uncomfortable. Her eyes quickly darted out to look at him, Caroline surprised that he would bring up this particular subject. He had never cared before, not once asked if she’d tried to fill the void in her bed and she was not the one to divulge in his relationship with her brother as well.

“They say he never dies. That he cannot be killed,” Caroline didn’t even attempt to deny anything nor pretend not to know whom Stefan spoke of.

“Anyone can be killed,” a rough voice cut through their conversation and when she raised her eyes, Niklaus was standing before her, his hand outstretched in an invitation. “May I have this dance, my Queen?” he asked, the blunt determination with which he stressed the word “my” making her blush.

Caroline barely nodded in response, placing her hand in his warm, bigger one. As they began to dance, those strong hands rested securely around her waist, a coil of pleasure rising in her lower belly at the contact. Her gaze met his and the way he slowly licked his lips while looking at hers was just too damn tempting, though she could not do anything about it In an attempt to divert her attention elsewhere, she asked, “How do you enjoy the festivities, your Grace?”

“Klaus,” he corrected her in a soft voice, and then added, “I haven’t been in favour of this feast but I am right now, my lady.”

“Why not before?”

“Dusk before the battle is no time for a feast, your Grace. We will fight and people will die. There is nothing to celebrate,” he replied, harsher than he’d meant to.

“I know,” Caroline admitted quietly.

Something in her tone clearly struck him as he eyes her closely, realization quickly coming upon him.

“You’re worried about your brother,” Klaus stated with warmth, brushing soothing circles on her waist and back with his thumbs. Her eyes flickered across the room, stopping on Matt with Stefan, engrossed in conversation, leaning in just a little too closely. Caroline could see the admiration in her brother’s eyes, this particular way you looked at someone and saw a whole world in them, etched on his face. She gulped, fully knowing that if it came down to it, Matthew would do anything in his power to ensure her husband’s victory and safety.

But at what price?

“Why did you marry him?” came the unexpected question.

“I…,” she found herself at the loss of words, surprised how well his words coincided with her own thoughts.

“I know it was not for love. But is the crown really worth it? Do you want to be the Queen that much?” his tone was growing louder and more accusatory, Caroline’s eyes glaring at him with anger.

How did he dare judge her?

“Not here,” she hissed, leaving his embrace and the tent, bidding goodnight to those who she encountered on her way out.

Feeling his haunting presence behind her, Caroline was not that surprised when a strong hand grabbed her by the waist as she made her exit, and pulled her towards the dark isolated spot in the back of the camp.

“What are you doing?!” she snapped, taking a look around to see if they had been seen.

“I’m going insane...over you, love,” Klaus chuckled bitterly, with the wild look in his eyes. “It matters not that you are the most maddening, enthralling, perplexing creature I’ve ever come across,” taking a step in her direction, he imprisoned her between his body and the tent, his musky scent overpowering Caroline’s sense.

She’d been certain he was drunk, having made such a scene but his breath was clear of alcohol. He smelled of forest, steel and spices, the strange combination so very him and so intoxicating, she found herself drawing near him, breathing in as he carried on.

“It matters not that you have married this dolt, who’s only dimming your light, just so you could have the Iron Throne. It matters not I have a father to avenge and a sister to save and I need your husband to make it happen,” he whispered fiercely, his warm lips brushing against her cheek, darting lower, towards her jaw, nipping at it, daunting.

Her breath caught, hands travelling up to his neck and the dirty blond curls she had pictured her fingers sinking into so many times.

“Niklaus…” his name escaped her lips and she loved the way it tasted on her tongue.

“I can’t help but want you,” the words brushed against her ear, his tongue skimming along the lines, then down the curve of her neck, teeth scraping, lips sucking on the skin. Caroline shuddered, her breaths uneven, muscles tightening with anticipation of his next move.

Their eyes met, a jolt of electricity shot between them and then, his mouth crushed with hers, demanding, devouring, yearning. She pulled on his hair, molding her body into his, the thin fabric of her dress grazing her sensitive nipples, shivers rushing down her spine. His hands flung to her hips, locking her against him as his tongue flicked across her lips, as if savouring her taste. Caroline sighed into his mouth when he pushed his thigh between the folds of her dress, in pursuit of more delicious friction, chasing their high. Almost riding his leg, tension coiling in her abdomen, drive, push and pull that she had to keep hidden for so long, awakening now. She craved to touch and be touched, to taste, to feel, to explore but still, it was him that she wanted.

They went on and on, tongues clashing against each other, a groan escaping him as she bit on his lower lip. Klaus’s fingers were stroking her hips, probably bruising the skin under her thin dress. Caroline tugged on his chemise, dying to feel his skin against hers and she was well on her way to rip it apart when someone’s loud laugh cut through the silence of the night. They pulled away, their breaths ragged and cheeks flushed. She wanted to say something, to save the situation and make him stay but the spell was broken. His eyes were longing, fixed on her but one look on his stone cold face told her what he was about to say. The glimmer of honesty was over.

“I cannot afford to fall for your charms, my Queen. However much I may want to,” Klaus let out, his tone biting, yet so utterly resigned. He went back to being the Young Wolf in this moment, strong-willed and fierce, always fighting the battle. Promptly turning away from her, he headed to his part of the camp, walking with long determined strides.

Caroline stood in the same spot for a while, trying to comprehend what had just happened between her and the King in the North. Taking in a long breath to calm herself down, she decided not to return to the feast either, not in the mood to be around other people right then.

The thing was, even when he had left her in anger, after having made her way to the tent she was sleeping in, Caroline discovered a direwolf resting beside her bed. Smiling upon the sight, she was relieved that despite everything that had transpired this evening, Niklaus had still made sure she would feel safe throughout the night, leaving Grey Wind to guard the nightmares and fears away.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The push and pull between Klaus and Caroline continues as she struggles with the outcome of the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/triggers: character death (NOT Klaroline though) and there is a scene of drowning in the beginning.

* * *

 

_"Winter friends are friends forever."_

_George R.R. Martin (A Feast for Crows)_

* * *

 

_6-year-old Caroline was basking in the sunlight, dipping her feet in the warm waters of the Mander river. She was playing on its shallow shore, under the scrutiny of her two brothers. They had lost their nursemaid some time ago, the elder woman too slow to keep up with their antics. Lorenzo was chatting playfully with some palace maiden, the 15-year-old already used to working his charm on the female population of Highgarden. Although he seemed busy, Caroline could feel her brother’s vigilant eyes on her whenever she would stray too far from the shore._

_Matthew was building a sandcastle just a few feet away from her; the structure in his hands reaching impressive size. It was blazing hot under the summer Reach sun in the quiet lazy afternoon and the rough waves were calling out to Caroline. She looked back at Enzo and carefully, taking small tentative steps, she ventured further and further into the water, the chilly current of the river providing the welcome refreshment._

_For a while, it had been glorious, the cold enveloping her as she was floating on, lazily moving her arms and legs. Suddenly, her foot slipped on the rock and she went under, the river pulling her deeper into the abyss with unstoppable violence._

_She could hear Matthew’s faint cry, subdued from the distance, as he sprang to his feet and instantly dived after her and Enzo’s panicked “No!” when he rushed right behind him. Struggling to keep above the surface, the water pouring into her mouth and nose, Caroline fought against the current. Using all her strength, with the waves hitting her in the face, she tried to push through but it was too much._

_Too cold._

_Too far._

_She’s gasping for air but it was getting harder to breathe, as if her lungs were stung by hundreds of icy needles, hurting with every inhale and exhale. Her body was feeling heavier by the minute and it was hopeless, the idea of dying passing through Caroline’s mind for the first time. Then, someone’s hand locked on her arm in a strong grip._

_Matt._

_Pulling her in, he pushed her into the arms of Enzo who was few feet behind, trying desperately to get to them faster. Her mind protested, the thought of both her brothers in danger unbearable but her body was weak and pliant. Catching her, Enzo hauled Caroline out of the water, his arms latched so tightly around her as if he were never to let her go again. Sand warm under her feet, she sighed in relief before violent coughs overpowered her and then she felt her brother’s grip loosen, a loud splash of water alarming her._

_But it was too late. Enzo was too late, making sure she got safe to the shore. The current tore Matthew away, his frame breaking under the rough power of the water._

_Caroline wanted to scream for help, for her dear brother to come back but the words stuck in her throat, unable to leave her mouth. She shook and writhed, trying to get out a sound, but it was of no use._

_Matthew._

_Matt._

_No._

“No!”, she woke up with a scream on her lips. The dawn was slowly shying away, the sun emerging from the night sky.

It was time.

The joined forces of the North and Reach were riding out to battle against the Lannisters at this exact moment.

This nightmare that had woken her up felt so painfully real and now she couldn’t even go to Matthew’s tent to make sure he was in good health.

Shaken, shiver creeping up her spine, Caroline hovered under the furs, scared of what the morning might bring.

* * *

 

The morning came and it felt too late and too soon at the same time. Caroline was standing still before the entrance to the main tent, only her clutched hands betraying any signs of worry. The truth was, she longed to pace around, caged like a wounded animal, but to show a weakness had never been an option. Caroline knew she had to appear strong, even if at the very moment, she was crumbling underneath.

The horns blew and the sound of hooves stomping hard on the cold solid ground carried on the wind. She saw Klaus’ bannermen first, then the rest of the Northern army. Matt wasn’t among them and he wouldn’t be, Caroline thought, clinging to hope as if she was drowning and it was her last saving grace. But the more soldiers passed her by, the darker her thoughts turned and the candle of light within her was slowly dimming. It was put out completely the moment she saw Klaus’ solemn face, his eyes conveying the hard truth better than any words could.

Then, Highgarden troops arrived with cortege formed in the middle, two bodies settled on the fur stretchers next to each other. Stefan and...Matthew.

The ground shuddered below her feet. The world shook in its hinges. Yet, Caroline was still standing, moving towards the bodies on her trembling legs. She wanted to cry but knew that was not an option, the crowd’s gaze fixed on her, seeking any kind of weakness, anticipating a public breakdown.

In spite of all odds, the tiny flicker of hope rose within Caroline as she told herself Matt was just badly injured, that this was the reason he was lying so still, buried deep in the furs, pale shade covering his skin. But, just as quickly as it soared, the feeling died in a swift, yet excruciating moment of clarity when she took in her brother’s breathless broken body, stained with blood.

His stone cold skin send chills along Caroline’s arm as she took Matt’s hand in hers. She fought so hard to keep the despair she felt inside, the internal struggle making it difficult to breathe. Lips quivering as she bit back a sob that threatened to leave her mouth, Caroline tasted iron in her mouth, the bite so strong it drew blood. Her hands clasped on her brother’s icy ones, arranged on the hilt of his sword.

He had fallen in a warrior’s death at least, she told herself. But it was no consolation.

Because he had died for her. And for Stefan.

_He might as well have died for nothing._

At that thought, Caroline felt bile rise in her throat, her lungs felt close to failing, with her breathing becoming more and more erratic.

She couldn’t be here anymore.

Caroline was about to crack, her polished exterior barely hanging on its hinges, but then, she felt Klaus’ hand on her back, an unexpected warmth spreading through her. Like an anchor, keeping her grounded and offering the slightest comfort - still, it was enough, keeping her from going over the edge and losing her steel control.

“Come now, love,” he whispered, gently steering her away. “Let’s get you back to your tent.”

“But I need to take care of him...them. He’s so cold, your Grace. I need to take him somewhere warm. He’s a soldier of summer. He shouldn’t be so cold,” Caroline whispered, already making arrangements things that needed to be done in her head, her gaze unfocused when she talked to him.

“I promise, he will be,” Klaus said solemnly. “Your soldiers will lay both your husband and Sir Matthew in his tent before…”

“Before the burial,” Caroline finished blankly.

“Yes. Forgive me, my Queen, but it needs to be soon. We cannot afford the diseases to spread among the rest of our men.”

“I know,” her answer was cold as she managed to hide back in her shell. It actually helped, that unavoidable practicality. The fact Klaus felt no need to coddle her was like an intake of fresh air to her lungs, resolving the blurriness that had overtaken her mind.

He was escorting her back to her tent, her elbow resting softly in his hand, the firmness of his grip keeping her steady. Caroline could feel the curious glances thrown her way from every side, the crowd waiting for her to break, to wallow in the misery cast upon her in just one faithful morning. Raising her head, she repelled each of them with a proud stare of her own.

She was a daughter of Highgarden. She would bow down to nothing. Even grief.

Matthew would not want her to break down.

They had finally reached her tent and Klaus was struggling to find the right words. She had gone so cold in the matter of mere seconds but he could see the silent despair brewing just underneath the surface as it resembled his own.

“Caroline, I…” he began but she interrupted him immediately.

“I know,” she simply replied, looking at him with a tumultuous mixture of pain and gratitude. Her name sounded so right on his lips and Caroline’s guilt burnt with a brute force as that sensation brought her pleasure even at a time like this. But the comfort of his voice was a luxury she had allowed to coat her for far too long.

It was high time she faced all that had transpired.

“Should you need anything, Caroline...” his voice trailing off, the promise behind his words rang clear between them. There was a gleam of concern and understanding in his eyes, the familiar bond of loss and pain stretching between the two delicately, yet so firmly, while they sank into one another’s gaze. Breath hitched in her throat when Klaus, despite all reason, leaned forward, closing the distance and she couldn’t help but revel in the musk of his scent, all earth, sweat and…

_Blood._

That broke her out of the daze, Matthew’s bloody face flashing before her eyes and Klaus must have guessed her thoughts when he drew back instantly, a flash of guilt crossing his face.

“Thank you. However, I shall not keep you from your duties any longer. Congratulations on the victory, your Grace,” Caroline let out, retreating to her tent not waiting for his response, the scorching burn of his gaze imprinted on her back.

* * *

 

Caroline was lying on her bed that night, unable to fall asleep.

In all truth, she was even reluctant to close her eyes, fearing the ghosts she might see in her dreams. The whole day, she had kept herself busy, planning, writing letters, strategizing her next moves. But now the dusk faded over the camp and Caroline found herself not exhausted enough.

Not enough to sleep a dreamless night.

Not enough for Matt and Stefan not to haunt her.

There was no love lost between her and her husband. She was no hypocrite to play a grieving widow and the truth was, no one actually expected her to. Still, Caroline could feel the sting of loss when she thought of Stefan, his genuine smile when he spoke of her brother, rare moments they laughed together, over the glimpses of childhood she shared with him, reminiscing her and Matt’s antics with Enzo watching over them.

Stefan might have been abrasive and dismissive towards her most of the time but Caroline had long ago trained to brace against men’s underestimation and take advantage whenever she could. She put up with her husband’s attitude as in the end, they were aiming towards the same goal. And that used to be all that mattered.

She had not lost a lover. But she did lose an ally. And she had never felt more alone.

Caroline had wanted to be _the_ Queen.

For now, that was no longer an option.

But vengeance was.

It was Jeremy Lannister who had killed her brother, the soldier had reported to her earlier in the day. He had been fighting with Stefan and Matthew rushed to shield his lover from the fatal blow. And the iron pierced right through his heart.

His gentle, loving heart.

Stefan managed to wound the Lannister boy and Klaus’s soldiers held him captive. After that, her husband supposedly threw himself into the worst of the fight, taking out the enemies with wild fury, seeking death. And death had found him - and Caroline could only hope Stefan had found absolution in that. But she could seek none, for the sacrifices her brother had made for the both of them.

A stifled sob escaped her mouth and Caroline realized the pillow was soaked with her tears. She only needed to get through the night, and then in the morrow, she would be back to her usual strong self - and Lannisters would rue the day they had earned her wrath.

The furs covering the entrance to her tent rustled and seconds later, a giant wolf leapt onto the bed right next to her.

“Grey Wind,” she whispered, reaching out to pet him behind the ears, the low murmur that came from his muzzle proving the animal approved of her actions.

With the wolf nuzzling into her neck, his warmth offering the similar comfort his master had before, Caroline remembered Klaus’ words when he had escorted her to the tent - and she had been too desolate to capture their magnitude.

_We cannot afford the diseases to spread among the rest of our men._

_Our_ men.

Perhaps it had been nothing or possibly, it had been a lapse on his part. But the words lifted some of the overwhelming heaviness off her chest. In that moment, with Grey Wind’s weight sprawled against her body, his eyes so similar to Klaus’, Caroline did not feel so alone anymore.

And finally, she succumbed to sleep. A silent one.

* * *

 

The following morning, Klaus strode purposefully towards the barracks that held Jeremy Lannister. He felt exhausted from the sleepless night, his mind haunted by Caroline’s solemn desolate expression as she had bidden him farewell before escaping to her tent.

His resolve had been an inch from cracking and he had almost kissed her. It was a good thing she had drawn back - in these circumstances it would’ve been a mistake. The last thing he wanted to do was take advantage. Even if he recognized Caroline was not the woman that would allow being played or taken advantage of - no, she was resourceful and cunning enough to be the player, not the played.

Yet, yesterday, there had been an utter honesty in her despair. Perhaps not everyone would see it that way but, Klaus had always been more perceptive than most people. And he was very keen on observing the young Queen.

Was the misery imprinted on her face reserved for her brother solely, or the husband as well? The question formed in his mind before he was able to stop it and although he could not believe himself to be so crude, it was burning at him with white jabs of rage. It made him feel dirty but the uncertainty kept eating at him.

Pressing his fingernails into the flesh of his hands, Klaus fought to keep his attention on the man before him as he opened the door to his cell and went inside.

Hatred rose in his chest, unlike anything he had ever felt, upon the sight of the dark-haired man, bruised and battered, blood dried on his face and hands shackled to the wall. This was the man who had been responsible for his little brother’s death after he had been unfortunate enough to catch him with Queen Elena. Father to the bastard spawn who had ordered to behead his father.

Man who had killed Caroline’s brother.

“Well, look who it is. Niklaus Stark. The King in the North,” Jeremy’s voice was strained but still managed to carry a mocking tone, his gaze challenging when he faced Klaus.

“I know not why you continue to be so smug, Lannister. Your troops are crushed,” Klaus drawled, slowly drawing his sword from the sheath.

“One won battle doesn’t make you a victor. Elena will send her forces and you will be biting the ground soon enough,” the Lannister was young and cocky but looked at him warily when Klaus set up to lazily graze the blade along his weary flesh.

“Ah, the lovely Elena. The same one who has been busy gathering all royal armies in the Red Keep? It seems the love has blinded you, Lannister.”

“I do not know what you are speaking of,” the man’s voice waned, a low ominous growl reverberating along the cell giving him goosebumps. Just a moment later Grey Wind’s giant posture appeared like a shadow behind Klaus’ back, Stark’s free hand sinking into the beast’s fur.

The man and the beast, united in fury. One.

“You need not pretend anymore, you fool. The whole Seven Kingdoms know the truth now. My father saw to that before that sadistic spawn of yours executed him,” Klaus hand trembled with his anger, the blade cutting through the skin of Jeremy’s cheek. A few droplets of blood stained the steel, the Young Wolf mesmerized by the sight as he fought for much needed control.

“Your father died a traitor,” the young Lannister taunted, clearly trying to rile him up even more.

“My father was loyal to the Crown and all you Lannisters will burn paying for your sins!” Klaus yelled in Jeremy’s face, his last words a fuse that unleashed his temper. Breathing heavily, he pulled back, even though every inch of his body was aching to spill more blood, to avenge all those he had lost. He could almost feel his sword piercing though Jeremy’s skin, then his sternum, crashing muscles and bones on its way. How the blood would gulp from this man’s mouth, his body convulsing and fighting to keep air in his smashed lungs.

But he could not afford to kill him.

Rebekah was still imprisoned in the Red Keep and even though Elena Lannister was as traitorous as she was beautiful, Klaus knew his sister was objectively safe. If he continued to keep young Jeremy alive as a leverage.

He could not afford to lose anyone else, he thought, Rebekah’s clear laugh echoing in his head as he calmed himself.

“I will burn House Lannister to the ground and you will pay,” he promised with a menacing smile, revelling in the fear that glimmered in the eyes before him.

“What right you have to pass judgement on us?”

“I’m the King in the North. There are no rights anymore. Only winter and death,” he spoke silently, Grey Wind grazing Jeremy’s face with his fangs before following his master.

* * *

 

The light midday breeze caressed her cheeks when Caroline of House Tyrell stood by the riverside, with Klaus on her right and Lords of the North behind. Soldiers of both North and Highgarden stayed in silence to bid their respects to her brother, husband and all their fallen brothers.

Matthew and Stefan rested in two wooden rafts, their bodies covered with plain cloth. Her brother looked peaceful, a gentle smile adorning his face even in death. In Highgarden, he would have been buried in flowers, sent away to eternal life with sweet tones of harps floating in the air. Here, in the middle of war, Caroline had simply put a garland of wild flowers around his neck, their colours vibrant in contrast to his pale skin.

The rafts were let go, the slow current of the river, unlike the one from her nightmare, lulling the two soldiers to eternal sleep. She started singing then, the old hymn that their mother had taught them when they’d been children, telling the tale of brave soldiers, might and glory. Her captivating voice carried on the wind, soothing the exhausted souls of those who survived the battle.

She was the most exquisite creature Klaus had ever seen, beautiful and strong in her pain. Her voice was like honey on his senses, smoothing all the sharp edges of his weary mind. Klaus would do anything to ease her suffering but knew that some things were impossible to fix. There were wounds that needed to heal on their own - he was painfully aware of that.

But that didn’t mean his Queen needed to go through all of that alone - in fact, Klaus would make sure she would _never_ be alone again.

Two burning arrows crossed the air and stuck to the boats, setting them aflame. Caroline’s voice wavered at that, tears slowly stringing down her face. He inched even closer to her, his fingertips resting gently on her lower back. His touch seemed to help keep her emotions in check, soothing circles he drew against the thin material of her dress having a calming effect.

The crowds slowly scattered as the rafts disappeared behind the line of horizon, until there were only Caroline and Klaus left by the shore.

“I want them dead. The Lannisters. All of them,” she whispered, her voice steady and clear of all the tears she had shed.

“They will be. I promise,” he grasped her hand in his, thumb brushing against the smooth skin of her palm.

She leaned towards him, burying her head in his chest, her sleek hair tickling his chin. It surprised Klaus but he molded his body around hers, enveloping Caroline in his arms, his cheek resting against her head.

“Good,” her murmur reverberated against his chest.

They stood like this for a very long time, almost till the Sun has set and the cold of an early evening forced them back to the camp.

* * *

 

The feast was loud with laughter and dance, their men enjoying the night before another battle.

The only thing that stood between Klaus and the Red Keep was Jonathan Lannister’s army, father of Elena and Jeremy. All they needed to do was survive another bloodshed and he would be one step closer to freeing his sister and getting his revenge.

_Their_ revenge.

After the funeral, Caroline had been keeping distance from him and it was infuriating. He could understand her need to mourn but she did not need to be alone in that anymore. Their connection was as clear to him as it was to her, yet, she continued to cover it with hostile words and empty stares.

Was she detaching herself from him because she felt guilty? Was it because of Stefan?

She couldn’t have _loved_ him. It angered him to even think so. Not because of her harboured affection for another man (though in all honesty it may have been a factor) - but because her husband couldn’t be more undeserving of such devotion.

Looking around the room, he noticed the constant object of his thoughts slipping away from the feast. He waited for a few minutes before deciding to follow her out, moving like a shadow across the camp until he disappeared in her tent.

Her lady in waiting was brushing her hair when Caroline saw his reflection in the mirror.

“Klaus! What are you doing, barging here like that?” she exclaimed, standing up.

“I’ve simply grown tired of your running away, my Queen,” he drawled, shamelessly raking over her body clad in the silk robe, the thin material accentuating her lovely curves.

“I will leave the two of you alone,” the brunette said - Katherine, if he remembered correctly, her grin wide when she looked at her lady.

“Katherine!” she shot the woman disapproving stare.

“Your Grace,” the maid nodded at him, her expression outrageously mocking as she left the tent.

“Why are you here? On second thought, you need not answer that. Just leave,” Caroline snapped, clearly exasperated.

“What are you afraid of, Caroline?” he asked, striding towards her until they were mere inches apart.

“I do not know what you mean,” she dismissed him.

He hated that.

“You know perfectly well. You have been fleeing on my sight since the funeral. What is it? Did you really love the bastard so much that you deny us what we both clearly want?” Klaus knew he had gone too far but he didn’t care. Her breath mixed with the flowery fragrance that always accompanied her overwhelmed his senses, his heart beating fast with anger pumping the blood furiously through his veins.

“How dare you?!” Caroline yelled to his face, hands pushing at his chest. “I am mourning _my brother_! Who loved too much and sacrificed himself for someone so undeserving. And then, I find myself mourning Stefan. Matthew died to save him, it was all because of his selfish interests...and _mine_ ,” her voice started to break. “If it wasn’t for _me_ …” Tears were slowly falling down her cheeks but when he tried to wipe them away, she shook off his hands and took a step back. “Then tomorrow, you’re riding into a battle again and...who knows how many will not come back,” bracing her arms around her midriff, she fixed her gaze on the floor.

“Caroline...I was set on this course long before I met you. I have too many promises to keep to die on the battlefield,” Klaus inched towards her, lifting her chin so that she would look at him. “But if I do die, I am glad that I have met you.”

After his words, silence stretched between them, eyes boring into one another’s as their breaths mingled together. Neither of them knew who moved first but there they were, mouths clashing and teeth grazing in a blazing fury. Caroline molded against his chest, her luscious curves fitting perfectly into the hard planes of his upper body. Klaus’ tongue delved into her mouth, deepening the kiss and she sighed, nails scraping the nape of his neck.

She felt his lips on her throat next when he hungrily sucked on her sensitive skin, leaving red marks as he moved downwards. Arching into Klaus even more, the heat of his body like a cocoon around her, Caroline’s hand sank into his breeches, cupping his throbbing erection.

“Caroline,” came out his strangled gasp and she smiled with satisfaction - only to moan loudly when he sucked her nipple into his mouth through the silk of her nightgown.

His warm tongue swirled around the nub till it was taut and hard, grunt escaping him when Caroline circled the tip of his cock with her thumb.

It was too much too soon but somehow, it still wasn’t enough. They moved across the room, frantically ripping away their clothes until they crashed with the table in the middle. Turning her around, Klaus put her hands on the wooden surface, his erection pressing into her ass while his fingers darted into her soaking pussy.

Hooking her arm around his neck, Caroline angled her head so he would kiss her. Klaus’ lips skimmed over the line of her shoulder, teeth biting into the skin as he crooked his fingers, hitting just the right spot inside.

She sobbed, rutting her body against him in a frenzy, searching for even more delicious friction.

“I adore you, Caroline. I crave you, all the time, like drowning men needs the air,” he whispered heatedly, his words hot on her skin, his other hand darting out to pinch her nipples. “You’re mine, you’re _my Queen_. Say it,” his thumb grazed her clit and she shivered, biting her lip so hard she drew blood.

“I’m yours. I’m yours and you are mine, Klaus,” his name mixed with taste of iron in her mouth.

Caroline whimpered when he withdrew his fingers, only to slam into her from behind.

“Yes. My Caroline,” he nuzzled her neck, his chest flat against her bare back. Setting a fast punishing pace, he thrust wildly in and out, filling her to the hilt as she rocked her hips to let him in as deep as she could.

The tent filled with their moans and sounds of skin slapping against skin and they melted into one another, moving together in pursuit of release. Caroline felt tension coiling in her belly, her body quivering and walls throbbing around his cock. Klaus placed his hands on hers, their fingers intertwining. The gesture was intimate, smoothing the fierceness of their coupling. She bent further onto the table, changing the angle and the next time he filled her, it sent her over the edge. Caroline cried out her pleasure, while she could hear Klaus grunting in her ear as she milked his orgasm with her clenching core.

They stood like this for a while, revelling in the closeness until their breathing calmed. She groaned when he withdrew from her, her shaky legs barely supporting her body. Klaus wasn’t in a much better condition, she noticed with satisfaction, his hair tousled and skin marked with scratches. He planted a few butterfly kisses along her jaw and then took her in his arms, devouring her with darkened eyes, a wide grin on his face.

Placing her on the bed, he rested next to her, spooning her in the cradle of his arms, their legs twining together.

“Rest now, love. You are going to need it,” Klaus whispered teasingly in her ear and indeed, it wasn’t long before both of them succumbed to sleep.

They made love throughout the night, one waking the other with firm touches and slow caresses, basking in each other’s bodies.

When Caroline woke in the morning, place next to her was already empty and cold. She tried to focus on the pleasant soreness of her body that was still humming with pleasure but in the end, it was to no avail. Covering herself with the fur, she ventured outside and stared into the distance, hoping silently this war wouldn’t tear another person from her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline awaits Klaus' return from the battle against the Lannisters. What will be the outcome?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a bit of bathtub smut in this chapter *Klaus lives, big spoiler - I KNOW*, some heartfelt confessions and a visit from an unexpected guest. Hope you enjoy ;)

* * *

 

_“A bruise is a lesson… and each lesson makes us better.”_

_(George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones)_

* * *

 

It was a cruel thing, having to wait.

Dawn lumbered into the morning and morning slowly crept towards the noon, the sun’s lazy stroll along the skyline contrasting with Caroline’s nervous pacing around the camp.

Time stretched out like a smudge of paint smeared over too many canvases, thin and yet still there, a constant presence in the background.

Minutes simply refused to go by any faster, lingering stubbornly as she tried to busy herself with menial tasks. Still, she couldn’t help but imagine Klaus in the midst of battle, wreaking havoc on the Lannister forces with Grey Wind by his side. She could almost hear the piercing sound of iron clashing against iron, the whinnies of horses, the hiss of arrows and the momentary silence that followed when they hit the mark.

Mayhem, blood and death.

He was right in the middle of it, Caroline knew, for his heart and his pride wouldn’t let him be anywhere else.

And how utterly unfair, that what seemed like unbearably endless hours to her was probably a swift strike of a sword for Klaus, engrossed in the maelstrom of the battle.

Strolling back to her tent, she sent Katherine away, unable to handle anyone’s presence. Her eyes darted around the room, sizing up the bed, now made and tidy, as if they hadn’t shredded the sheets and rumpled the furs in their passion just hours ago.

But they had. She could still feel the rough touch of his palms burning on her skin, the graze of his teeth claiming her as his.

_Her_ Wolf.

“He will live,” she whispered to herself.

_He will live, he will live, he will live_.

She chanted like a prayer while her fingers danced on the table, smoothing over the place where their hands had rested the night before. His over hers, joined just like their bodies had been, and despite all the despair and loss in her, she had never felt more complete.

She can’t bear to lose more people.

_You can. You’re strong. You can bear anything this world weighs on you._ The thought crossed her mind in a lilting whisper of his voice.

Eyes bored into the table, she stood as time passed drop by drop, ruthlessly slow. Finally, horns bellowed across the valley of the camp and Caroline’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the table in a strong hold.

They arrived.

For a fleeting moment, she wished she could stay in that tent and never find out whether Klaus awaited her dead or alive outside of it.

But it was a sentiment of a coward and a foolish one at that - and Queen or not, Caroline was neither of those things.

With a deep breath and her head held high, she stepped out into the midday sun.

* * *

 

Caroline remembered the first time she had seen Niklaus Stark - his face and golden curls had reminded her a little of Highgarden’s sun-kissed soldiers until she’d noted the harsh chill of winter in his every move and assessing gaze. 

Except when that gaze was directed at her.

This time, what she first saw was blood and mud and the fire in his eyes as they beheld her standing by his tent.

Her knees buckled as the crushing wave of relief washed over her, yet she caught herself and stood tall, waiting for him to make his way through the maze of their joined troops.

He did, stopping just inches away from her, close enough that Caroline could pick up the scent of blood, dirt and iron, a familiar hint of forest and spices still there, lingering beneath.

It smelled like home, she thought, eyes fluttering closed as she inhaled subtly, mindful of the crowd rambling around in a post-battle haze.

Gently, his fingers skimmed down her arm until they reached her hand and fastened around it, her breath hitching in her throat at the touch. Their eyes met again and she noted how he fought to conceal his weariness, the tightness around his mouth and his tensed muscles telling her all she needed to know for now.

A silent understanding passed between them and Caroline walked him into his tent, hand in hand, appearances be damned for once.

* * *

 

People said he couldn’t be killed.

Strangely fascinated, Caroline traced blood that slowly trickled down from the poorly stitched wound in his left side, just inches below the heart. Above it, spreading over his left pectoral, there was a tattoo of direwolves, a couple with pups.

A pack. A family - _his_ family.

It hit her then just how much there was that she still didn’t know about him. Last night, their coupling had been passionate but hurried. Two starving people that finally had given in to their hunger. Caroline may have had that feeling like she had known Klaus her whole life, but in the end, she had just started learning the patterns on his skin and the lines of his body. And there was still so much she didn’t know about him - who he was beside the man that _saw_ her, what he wanted apart from avenging his father and rescuing his sister.

Bile rose in her throat at the thought that he could be taken from her before she had an opportunity to learn all she craved for, to read a book of his life from cover to cover and remember it by heart, then start all over again.

Because Klaus was hers, but he bled like any other man - and people were wrong while he was right.

Anyone could be killed.

As Klaus stood there, bloodied, bruised and battered, just a glint of victory tingling in his eyes so dimmed by the darkness, Caroline knew. In one of those rare moments of absolute clarity, she realized there would be no half measures nor silent grief if Klaus too was taken from her.

She would pick a sword of her own and whore herself out, but the world of the Lannisters would burn down to ashes with her fury.

What it meant exactly, she felt no need to ponder right now.

Resting one hand on his beating heart, she cleaned the wound, then picked up the needle, bracing herself to sink it in his flesh.

“A queen knowing how to stitch? You’re full of surprises, your Grace,” he mused weakly, his voice tired.

Yet it wasn't just a flesh wound that had worn him out, it appeared.

With a wry smile, she deadpanned in an attempt to resolve some of the tension, “It cannot be that much harder than embroidery, can it?”

Klaus’ lips stretched a little as well, a hiss escaping them when she started closing the wound in slow, yet efficient moves.

Questions welled up on her tongue, threatening to spill in an uncontrolled wave. Their army had come out victorious once more, that much was obvious to her, but the cost of that victory seemed to be etched into his face. Caroline was starving for answers, but when she cleared her throat, his face closed off again.

So instead, she simply said, “I’ve asked them to prepare a bath for you here. The wound is sewn together, you should clean up now.” Her hand darted out to his chin of its own volition, cupping the stubble-covered skin.

Klaus leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you, love,” he croaked.

“Join me, then?” she asked as her thumb caressed his cheek. The need to touch him was ingrained so deeply, so profound, as if she could keep him with her here just by brushing her skin against his.

As if the contact shielded him against the demons that haunted him.

His hand enclosed hers, pulling it towards his mouth, a hint of warmth filling his gaze as he met her eyes. “It would be my pleasure, love,” he said, lips grazing the inside of her wrist.

* * *

 

Cradled between Klaus’ legs, Caroline let out a sigh of tentative contentment, nestling her head on the curve of his shoulder. The water was still pleasantly warm, relieving tension from her strained muscles, and time quickened its pace again, released now from the slow torture of waiting. 

Yet nothing could compare to the comfort offered by the touch of his hot skin on her own or the way his heart beat, steadily and stubbornly, against her back. Klaus’ fingertips danced on her arms, like little flares of fire licking at her flesh. The tent was filled with friendly silence and perhaps it could’ve stayed that way, but then Caroline wouldn’t be herself.

She needed to know.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

She could feel his body grow tense against her own, although his fingers didn’t cease their caress. The silence stretched, and for a moment she thought the answer wouldn’t come.

“We won, my Queen. That’s all that should matter.” Klaus’ gravelly voice filled the room.

_His Queen_.

Just last night he had called her that, and the words had scorched her skin and felt so right. But now, his flat tone sank low and heavy in her stomach, leaving her cold as if he’d been miles away, back on that battlefield, instead of here with her.

Well, Klaus could _try_ distancing himself from her just like she had done before. Only Caroline wouldn’t let him, just as he hadn’t allowed her to run away from him and their growing feelings.

If anything, her persistence matched his.

Water churned, spilling over the bathtub as Caroline swiftly rolled over to face him, knees on either side of his legs straddling him. She wanted to dig into the matter right away but thought better of it when she noted the grim expression on his face. Grabbing the cloth, she started lathering his body with it, slowly tracing the muscles of his abdomen, chest, and shoulders. With dirt and blood now washed off, the bruises and shallow cuts his skin was marred with were even more visible, but she knew what troubled him was hidden much deeper.

The tattoo on his chest drew her attention again and her hand darted out to touch it, fingertips tracing the black lines of it. Klaus shuddered under her touch, his eyes fluttering shut. She watched his muscles flexing as he breathed in and out, her palm resting where the ink stained his skin.

“Tell me about them. Your family.” Her demand was like a soft whisper on her tongue.

As he opened them, his eyes roamed over her naked form, hands following the path until they enclosed her face in their calloused embrace.

A storm of emotions roiled through her at his gaze and the way the hollowness seemed to disappear from it when he looked at her. Tipping her head, she traced her lips along his thumb in a feather-like kiss, waiting for him to deny her the answer.

She should’ve learnt by now that Klaus never did what people expected him to. Surprised, she listened as his guarded voice broke the silence word by cautious word.

“My mother, Esther, is a strong woman. She’s not from the North, but father would always say she resembled a snowdrop - A fair and delicate exterior laced with strength to withstand the hardships of winter,” he began in a quiet strained voice. His eyes set somewhere over her shoulder, darkened as he stared at something only he could see. A subtle smile formed over his lips as he went on, “She _did_ endure the hardships of raising five of the most obstinate unruly children.”

“With you heading the herd?” Caroline mused, playing with the loose curl that swept over his forehead.

He looked almost boyish at that moment, a playful smirk curving his lips and a tinge of mirth colouring his irises and Caroline marvelled at that new side of him she just got to see.

With an innocent shrug, Klaus replied, “I might have been the instigator at some point. Elijah is the eldest but he’s always been the most disciplined of us. He joined the Night Watch the day he turned 18. I haven’t seen him since.”

Whatever joy that had lain simmering in his eyes before disappeared now and Caroline felt as if she had lost something precious. She could tell separation from his family took its toll on him as she ached from her own, similar loss. She missed Lorenzo dearly and it’d been just months since they’d seen each other last. And Matt? She knew she would miss him for the rest of her life.

Klaus’ voice broke her out of her own thoughts as his next words filled the room. “You know of Rebekah. She’s both the sweetest and the most spoilt girl you’d ever meet, a bit naive and so eager to love. She was ecstatic when father announced her betrothal to Alexander Baratheon. Foolish girl,” he sneered, and Caroline felt the grip of his hands tighten as they fell to her hips. “And Henrik is the youngest. Bright and curious and always looking for trouble, wandering the woods and climbing the trees. He was so angry at us all for leaving him alone in Winterfell while we got to set out for an adventure. Mother’s with him now.”

He fell silent once again, mindlessly trailing his fingertips along the curve of her spine. It blurred her mind, making her want to lean into his touch and let go. Instead, she nestled herself against his taut chest and and cautiously voiced her thoughts, “You said there were five of you. What about - “

“Kol,” he croaked, his body stiffening at the name. “He died in our first battle against the Lannisters. I forbade him to come, implored him to stay at Winterfell with Henrik but... but Kol would always do what he wanted, nothing else. ‘I won’t let you run like a lone wolf,’ he said. And naturally, he threw himself into the worst of the battle.”

“Klaus - ”

“Today,“ he cut in again, words leaving his mouth in a taut, clipped tone. “I sent a battalion of men to certain death today. Boys like him, laughing and reckless, with mothers and sisters at home.”

Her insides burned at the self-contempt and guilt she heard in his tone. Caroline wanted to say or do something, anything to bury the pain. To wash it away like she’d done to the filth layered on his skin. But the feelings were wrapped too tightly around him, and no words held power to change it. Not when his only options were to either keep pushing forward or bow down to the people responsible for his father’s death.

So she just wound fingers in his hair, soothingly raking them through its softness. Taking joy in the way Klaus appeared to lean into her touch.

“But it doesn’t matter, does it? We’ve won and we’re one battle and four thousand corpses closer to the Red Keep,” Klaus uttered, his words crude but his accent lilting around the edges, smoothing them over.

“It does matter. But we're at war and we all have choices to make,” Caroline let out quietly.

Maybe it was her voice almost breaking under the weight of consequences behind her words that caused Klaus to glance up at her face. Understanding filled his handsome features. “Do you regret the ones you’ve made?” he asked.

She bit her tongue, as if tasting the reply before it left her mouth. There was no easy answer here, there never had been. “No,” she admitted unapologetically, before her voice faltered into a broken sigh, “and yes.” A single tear rolled down her cheek, dangling by her chin before Klaus swept it over with his thumb. Warmth spread over her body, making her shiver against the water that was slowly cooling down. Casting her gaze down, she carried on. “I’ve never wished to marry Stefan. And as my father informed me of our impending nuptials, with no qualms about my opinion, I made a promise to myself. That if I were to be Stefan’s wife, I would do everything in my power to become the Queen. Take my place by the Iron Throne, the most influential woman in all of Westeros, and let _no one_ rule me ever again.”

“Such ferocious fire that burns in you. Who would dare to rule you, my Queen?” Klaus whispered, his awe-tinged eyes caressing her with their stare while his fingers drew circles on her hipbones.

“No one, perhaps. But it wasn’t me who paid the price for it to come true.” _Matthew did_ , she thought bitterly.

Seeing right through her, Klaus countered, “You didn’t decide for him, sweetheart. Your brother made a choice of his own.”

Her head jolted up, breath catching in her throat. “So did yours,” she managed.

Realization lingered like heavy, hot air between them. Maybe both of them needed someone else to point it out so that they could really _hear_ it. Or perhaps they had just needed to hear it from one another. All she knew was that while the vile taste of guilt was still there, somehow, the knot in her stomach had loosened slightly, just as Klaus’ expression had softened. The ocean blue of his eyes darkened as he took her in and her skin prickled, her body wound tightly. She became very much aware of his naked body pressed against hers - his muscled thighs rubbing along the inner side of her legs, his hands gliding up to her chest, brushing past rib by rib.

Palms clasping onto his shoulders, Caroline shifted, firmly holding his burning gaze. Hovering over his hardening length, she slightly swiveled her hips, her silky folds brushing and teasing. The touch of his cock against her heat made arousal pool in her belly, the evidence of it smearing across the tip.

“Caroline,” he rasped, voice thick with desire as she reached with one hand, fingers wrapping around his shaft.

She just looked at him in response, detailing every single crease and twitch on his face as she pushed his cock past her entrance. He must have been exhausted after the battle, his body still carrying signs of all the strikes he had taken, but Caroline could tell he wanted this as much as she did. Needed her exactly like she needed him - no foreplay or kisses, just skin against skin and him, fucking her till her lungs were raw from screaming his name.

Klaus groaned, burying his head between her breasts, fingertips digging deep into her hips. As if set to torture herself, Caroline sank onto him, their eyes locked on each other as she sheathed him deeper in her, inch by glorious inch. A drawn-out moan escaped her lips as she felt him stretching her walls, the incredible sensation of being so _full_ causing her muscles to clench convulsively around him.

Breath caught in her throat when she heard him growl into her skin just before he jerked his hips forcefully, hitting just the right spot. She saw his face contort in pain before it quickly was overshadowed by desire; still her hands rushed to smooth away the weariness and the hurt.

It seemed like their control snapped then and it all became blurry and rushed, cold water neither of them cared about sloshing out of the bathtub. With her arms draped over his neck, she bit into the curve of his shoulder each time he pushed into her. His lips sucked her skin, her clavicle and neck painted red as he furiously worked to mark any inch of her he could reach.

And it was hard and fast - he slid deeper and deeper each time and their breaths blended together as they became all teeth and nails and tongues. Caroline’s spine arched as she frantically ground onto him, meeting his thrusts with head thrown back. Soon, they went over the edge, moaning their release into each other’s mouth, their breathing harsh.

After a quick peck on the lips, Klaus scooted her in his arms, closed the distance to bed and lay on the fur with Caroline curled tightly around his limbs. With little care for their damp skin, he draped the covers over them and pulled her snugly against him. They shared a small satisfied smile, like a secret passing between their eyes, and this strange sense of elation came over her - a feeling she’d learnt to associate with him since their first meeting.

Lazily threading fingers through his still wet curls, she nuzzled the crook of his neck, savouring the scent that was all them. Forest and steel blended with honey, filling her nostrils until she could almost taste it on her tongue.

_Her Wolf._

He smelled like home.

Time didn’t stretch stubbornly anymore - it went by decidedly too fast. So little of it she got to spend with Klaus when the truth of the matter was she wanted him for so much longer.

‘Til she couldn’t remember her own name, yet his own remained carved in the deepest corner of her mind. Until her grey hair draped over the pillow next to his as they lay in each other’s arms.

Until his wrinkled hand cupped her cheek and he kissed her goodnight.

* * *

 

Caroline stirred, encompassed in a blissful warmth radiating from Klaus. Her body felt pleasantly sore as she stretched then nuzzled back into his side. She wished for this peaceful moment to last so she could have the luxury to pretend, to bask in the illusion that there was no war outside of this tent. 

But the real world was waiting for them both, and sooner rather than later it came to interrupt their time together as Katherine quietly stepped into the tent. With a determined expression on her face, she motioned for Caroline to come out and narrowed her eyes at her when she didn’t respond immediately.

Honestly, sometimes Caroline wondered whether Katherine was indeed her lady-in-waiting or if it was the other way around.

Klaus slightly shifted on the bed as she left it but didn’t wake up, a true testament to his exhaustion. _Or perhaps he feels safe with me_ , she mused, the thought making her heart skip a beat. Having gathered her scattered clothing, she swiftly put it on, and with one last glance at him walked out into the chill of the morning.

“What is going on, Katherine?” she hissed as soon as she was out of earshot, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders tightly.

“I could ask you the same thing, dear sister,” Lorenzo’s drawl rang in her ears. Spinning on her toes, she was met with the sight of her older brother, his usually teaseful features disturbed by a scowl. Still, with no hesitation, she flung herself into his arms. Familiar scent filled her nostrils, a fragrance of fruit at the market, sun and the sea. The thought of home and Matthew brought tears to her eyes, the few drops that she let fall dampening the fabric of Enzo’s tunic.

Taking a breath in, Caroline opened her mouth with no words coming out. How could she convey the turmoil of feelings she had gone through? The inexplicable mixture of relief and sorrow she experienced upon seeing him alive and well?

She was about to say something, _anything,_ but fortunately Enzo beat her to it. “I know,” he whispered, hugging her more tightly. They stood like this for some time, embracing and taking comfort in each other’s presence before walking back to her tent, arm in arm. Once they were there, she couldn’t help but inquire about everything she had missed since leaving Highgarden with Stefan. It was a great plan to stop Enzo from asking his own questions, but regrettably it could only deter her brother for so long.

“Would you care to tell me what is happening between that Stark boy and you, Gorgeous?” His clever, all-seeing eyes focused on her.

“Not particularly, if I’m being honest.”

“Caroline,” he trailed off expectantly.

She crossed her arms and turned her gaze away from him, looking at a point inches from his face. “What are _you_ doing here, Enzo?” she asked defiantly.

It was Lorenzo’s turn to become disconcerted as he shifted on his feet, unsure. “I knew you’d need me,” he murmured.

Knowing him well, it was obvious to Caroline that he was hiding something. “I know that,” she assured him, her voice softening. “But there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“Father wants you to marry that little Lannister King,” he said bluntly.

Caroline swallowed hard, thinking of all the stories she had heard of Alexander, Elena’s son. The cruel joy he took in causing pain, the fits of anger, the tortured servants. How could her own father be willing to subject her to that? “And you?” she demanded, proud when her voice didn’t falter.

“I wouldn’t throw you to the Lions, you know that, dear sister. Even if I know you would be a snake among them,” Enzo said, smirking.

An idea brewed in her mind at his words, one that could be both genius and disastrous in its simplicity. “A snake, you say?” she mused, her mind already busy weighing all the risks in each possible scenario, making up lists of things that needed to be taken care of.

A glint of recognition crossed Enzo’s eyes as he registered the familiar expression on her face - both determined and elated at the thought of executing her plan. “What is on your mind, Gorgeous?”

She beamed at him with a victorious smile, “I know how to win this war.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger again! I've decided to write one more chapter of this story so you can expect an epilogue at some point *hopefully soon* Please let me know what you thought of this chapter ;)
> 
> Till next time!


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